


Twelve

by Marlena_Owens



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlena_Owens/pseuds/Marlena_Owens
Summary: A glimpse into Nancy's internal dialogue as she chats with Lucy during S3E1. Inspired by a statement Nancy made.Canon-compliant spoilers and mature language.





	Twelve

"I was twelve." 

Her face hardens, rapidly locking secrets too raw to face-- even now-- within the deep vaults of her mind. But she's slower tonight than normal. Off her guard. Rattled. Lucy sees the glimpse of hurt linger just a moment before Nancy recovers the mask. 

Nancy's certainly sorry Bedlam exists. It is a glaring threat for all women, but it is the common destination of harlots and bawds alike whose bodies and minds are ruined by years of abuse and disease. She briefly considers Scanwell's case and reflects that she is lucky for a daughter to look after her. Little Charlie displayed no such loyalty to his mumma. Men and their bloody efforts to control women. Spineless brutes. 

Nancy resolves that she's sorry for Bedlam's existence, but she's not sorry that the bitch Quigley is currently trapped inside. Quigley is armed with 50 years of strength reserved within her wicked core. She's cunning, smarter than any man Nancy's ever flayed, and entirely committed to self-preservation. 

She isn't twelve.

It is for that reason Nancy hopes Quigley is locked in a room, glancing up with fear every time a person is heard outside of the door, jingling keys and turning knobs. She hopes her stinking breath catches in her chest with frightened anticipation of another's entry.

Nancy hopes the chains they've tied her down with burn and leave deep, purple bruises. She hopes the hurt sears worse when Quigley pulls them taut as she struggles away from a man brutalizing her unwilling body. 

She hopes Quigley is forced to undress, shit in a dirty pot, and otherwise bare the one thing that is her own possession in this life-- her body-- in front of others. Often. 

What she doesn't hope for is any cull, doctor, caretaker, or man at Bedlam, Covent Garden, Golden Square, or anywhere to do to Quigley what she did to Nancy for six long years. 

Nancy isn't a monster. She plays the game, but she doesn't advance by throwing babes to lions. 

Nancy also isn't stupid. She knows that a year is long enough for the old, hardened woman to wrap that entire bleeding institution around her piss-stained shift. 

She knows that Lydia Quigley will not ever concede that what she did to Maggie, herself, Emily Lacey, and countless other girls and molly boys was wrong. 

She knows that Quigley is incapable of understanding a world and perspective outside of her own survival. No, survival is settling too low. Lydia Quigley's sole goal is the total monopolization of everyone around her... including twelve year old girls plucked from Foundling Homes thankful to be saved from a life in the work house. Only to be shackled to a life inside a bawdy house.

Nancy will later hear that Lucy (oh, Mags) purchased Golden Square with a black molly house owner. 

And she will be fearful. 

She will be fearful because she knows Quigley isn't dead (her snivelling son reports as much).

She will be fearful because she knows Quigley will slither out of that place eventually, shedding her skin and coming out stronger than ever. 

She will be fearful because she knows that, no matter what she was forced to endure at Bedlam, Quigley will not have developed one damn ounce of remorse for anybody but herself. 

She will be fearful because, when Quigley discovers what Nancy will soon learn, Nancy knows Lucy will be the serpent's number one target. 

But for now, prior to gaining such knowledge, Nance longs like hell for a drink as she stares into the (beautiful) eyes of Margaret's youngest. 

Sweet little Lucy, whose eyes are hardened by a year of whoring, is asking Nance how to not fuck culls and Nance yearns for Mags. 

All she can think is thank Christ she isn't twelve.


End file.
